


Chapter 2: Yer Out!

by dc_comic_girl



Series: The Story of Mickey Milkovich [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich Friendship, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, POV Mickey, POV Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dc_comic_girl/pseuds/dc_comic_girl
Summary: Mickey Milkovich gets kicked off his little league baseball team for pissing on first base.





	Chapter 2: Yer Out!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, I had this idea for a while before I actually decided to write this series. It's cannon that Lip (1x08) and Mickey and Ian (2x02) all played little league when they were younger. Because Lip and Mickey are the same age and it was confirmed in the show that Ian and Mickey were on the same team, I kinda just always imagined them all playing on the same team. 
> 
> Anyway, every single one of my facts about little league may be incorrect, because I don't really know anything about it.
> 
> I don't own characters, but I hope you enjoy!

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause.”

“Pleeease?” Mandy begged, following her brother into his room.

“The fuck you want to sit around watching baseball for?” Mickey asked, flipping over his couch cushion looking for his glove.

“I don’t want to watch, I want to _play_ ,” Mandy grinned, sitting on his bed and swinging her legs back and forth.

“No.”

“But why not?” Mandy whined, pouting.

She had been bugging Mickey about little league since she found out he was playing, and he had just about had e-fuckin’-nough.

“’Cause you’re a fuckin’ girl, Mandy. Little league is for boys,” Mickey tried his best to explain, climbing on his knees and checking under his bed, to no avail.

He pushed himself up off the ground to see Mandy looking down at him. Her disappointment looked genuine. Mickey sighed and tried to force a smile, “How d’ya think it’d look if a girl kicked all their asses, huh?”

A small smile broke Mandy’s pout and Mickey decided bribery was his best bet to get her to drop the subject. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Look, it’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be back before you know it, and I’ll bring you back a hotdog for dinner, ‘kay?”

Mandy’s smile grew a little bigger. “A Chicago dog? With extra relish and no tomatoes?” she asked, apparently forgetting about her attempt to guilt trip her older brother into letting her come to his game.

“Sure,” Mickey answered absent-mindedly, finally finding his glove under a turned over pizza box. He grabbed the glove, wiped the grease from it onto his pants, and shoved it in his baseball bag (which was really just a recycled duffle bag that Jaime had given him after using it to rob a White Castle).

“’Kay,” Mandy grinned, hopping off his bed and skipping out of the room.

Mickey rolled his eyes and slung the bag over his shoulder. He was relieved that Mandy had caved so easily on her attempt to come to the game. Little league was a nice break from his home, and he wasn’t really looking for the two worlds to meet.

The idea to join a team sport (which was just about the least Milkovich inclination you could have) possessed Mickey a year earlier. Mandy had come home crying from school about some boy pulling her hair at the recess, and Mickey, being the good big brother that he was, decided to teach the boy a lesson.

Truancy, however, remained a priority, so he decided to wait in the park across the street from school for class to let out. The plan was simple and had the additional advantage of giving Mickey something to do with his afternoon that wasn’t sit around his house and listen to his parents cuss each other out or get high.

 Mickey didn’t exactly remember what time school let out, and it had been a nice day for April, so Mickey headed to the park around 2, with the intention of waiting. He had slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his mom’s purse last time she had been passed out, and he was determined to smoke one.

He had just sat down against the fence and pulled out a cigarette and his brother’s old BIC lighter when he heard his name being called. He looked up to see Lip Gallagher walking towards him.

“Gallagher,” Mickey nodded curtly, hoping he gave off the air of someone not interested in companionship. If he had succeeded, Gallagher was willfully ignorant, because he sat his ass down next to him.

Mickey didn’t particularly want company, and he certainly wasn’t looking for it from Lip Gallagher, but he decided to capitalize on the situation. If Lip _was_ going to stay, at least he could bare witness to Mickey smoking, like a real grown up.

Mickey offered the pack, nonchalantly. He thought he saw hesitation flicker in Lip’s eyes, but it was only for a second before he took a dart from the carboard sleeve and stuck it between his lips. Mickey stumbled with the lighter a few times, but finally got it to catch, lighting up Lip’s cigarette and then his own.

The taste was horrible, and Mickey had to actively fight the urge to cough. He stole a look at Lip out of the corner of his eye, and his expression mirrored Mickey’s thoughts. Mickey felt a strange sense of kinship in his gut as he wondered if this was Lip’s first smoke too.

The two boys sat in silence for a couple minutes. They both seemed to hold their cigarettes in their hands more than in their mouths, and Mickey felt like he had to spit every couple of seconds, to try and get the bad taste out of his mouth. It didn’t help that the cigarette seemed to be making his mouth fill up with saliva more quickly than usual.

“So, whatcha doin’ here?” Lip finally asked. “I didn’t even think you remembered where school was.” Some of the ash fell off the end of his cigarette into his lap, and Lip brushed it away hurriedly.

Mickey scowled. It was true that he hadn’t attended school a lot in the last couple of years, a fact he took more pride in than shame, but there was just something about Lip’s voice that always made each question feel like an accusation.

“You aren’t exactly in class either,” Mickey mumbled, taking a drag and holding the smoke in his mouth before blowing it out, being careful not to inhale.

“Yeah, guess I didn’t feel like finger painting and reading Dr. Seuss today,” Lip smirked, looking at the cigarette in his hand.

“Felt more like sitting outside the school and bumming smokes?” Mickey asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lip sucked on the end of his cigarette, but Mickey suspected he didn’t inhale. “Picking up my sister,” Lip shrugged. “She has Head Start.”

Mickey nodded, disinterested, as Lip stared at him. He realized he was waiting for Mickey to reciprocate with his own explanation.

“Some kid was picking on my sister,” Mickey finally said, holding another drag in his mouth. “Gonna teach ‘im a lesson.”

 “What kid?” Lip asked, and Mickey wondered why the boy wanted so desperately to keep the conversation going.

“Dunno yet,” Mickey shrugged, staring straight ahead at the school.

“So what’s your plan? Gonna spend your afternoon beating up every boy in Mandy’s grade?” Lip grinned, like that was the stupidest plan he had ever heard.

“Beats reading _Green Eggs and Ham_ ,” Mickey mumbled. Lip let out a loud laugh, and Mickey couldn’t tell if he was laughing at his joke or his half-baked plan.

Before Mickey could figure it out, the bell rang, and both boys looked up. Mickey stood, stubbing out his cigarette on the ground (slightly grateful to be rid of it) and brushed the dust off his pants. Mickey nodded in Lip’s direction, signalling the end of their interaction, but Lip quickly stood.

“So, you goin’ Saturday?” Lip asked, throwing his smoke on the ground and stepping on it with his heel.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?” Mickey asked. Jesus Christ, it felt like every comment Gallagher ever made was specifically designed to let you know he knew something you didn’t.

“Little league tryouts,” Lip explained, knitting his eyebrows together like Mickey was perhaps the stupidest person alive and he was only now realizing it.

“Why the fuck would I be wasting a Saturday going to little league tryouts, Gallagher?” Mickey asked, blood rushing to his face. He wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

Lip shrugged. “’Cause everyone is?” he suggested, like the answer should be obvious.

“Yeah, well I ain’t, so I guess not _every_ one.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey looked back at the school. He was regretting ever offering Lip Gallagher one of his mother’s cigarettes. He should have known there was nothing positive that would come from this little rendezvous. Now, instead of feeling relaxed and ready to go beat some 7-year-old’s face in, he had the weird sensation that there was something very important going on that he was being left out of. _Whatever_ , he thought to himself _. It would probably just be a bunch of Lip Gallaghers. That wouldn’t be fun anyway. Remember Head Start?_

He had hated Head Start and had barely attended in his second and third year (it really prepared him for how to handle grade school). Still, he had always enjoyed sports. He was a pretty fast runner, and his brothers had shown him how to use a bat. Okay, they didn’t show him how to use it for _baseball_ , but still…

The silence was broken by a red-haired girl running up to them. She was dragging an equally red-haired boy by the hand. “Hi Lip!” she yelled, as soon as she crossed the street. “We read _The Cat in the Hat_!”

Lip’s eyes quickly darted to Mickey’s, and he smirked. “You did?!” he asked in feigned excitement. “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it on the walk home, Debs!”

She bounced up and down, giddy, and Mickey thought she looked very much like his memory of Lip’s mother.

“How was your day, Ian?” Lip asked, tousling the boy’s hair. Mickey thought the entire scene would be a little much for even Norman Rockwell.

“S’okay,” the red-haired boy answered with a shrug. He turned to face Mickey. “You’re Mandy’s brother, right?”

Mickey ran his nicotine-tasting thumb across his bottom lip, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah? So?”  

Red-haired Ian smiled widely and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s beating the shit out of Ryan Mitchell in the school yard. He pulled her hair during recess.”

Mickey grinned. _Good girl_. He started to walk towards the school yard, not bothering to say goodbye to the Gallaghers.

“You should come Saturday!” Lip called after him. Mickey turned halfway around, to see Lip smirking, carrying the little girl’s backpack for her. “Ya know, if you can spare the Saturday.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I want to try out for little league,” Mickey said that night to his father, as the man was counting out bills and laying them in piles on the table.

“Yeah? Too fuckin’ bad,” Terry replied, around the cigarette dangling out of his mouth, not even looking up. “Jesus fuck, Joey! Why is there only a hundred and thirty bucks here? I gave you enough oxy to pull at least three hundred!”

Terry slammed his fist on the table, making it shake, and Mickey flinched slightly. It occurred to him that now was perhaps not the best time to pursue this topic with his father. Then again, Terry was never in a particularly good mood, so now was probably as good a time as any.

“Why can’t I?” Mickey asked. He tried to make his voice sound confident and loud, but it cracked in the middle of his question.

Terry made a sweeping gesture across the table in front of him, and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _Does it look like I have the money to spend on the amusement of children?_ He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette onto the kitchen floor. “Iggy! Where the fuck is your share?!”

Mickey dug his toe into the ground and fixed his eyes on it. “It’s not that much money,” he mumbled softly, half hoping his father wouldn’t hear him.

Iggy had run in, with a hand full of waded up bills, but Terry held a hand up at him, telling him to wait. He was finally fixing his eyes on Mickey. “What was that?” he asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes were wide with rage.

“I just meant, it’s only like seventy-five-“

The back of Terry’s hand hit the side of Mickey’s face with such force, that the boy fell to the ground. He looked up, with shocked, wide eyes, at his father, who was now standing. He tasted blood trickle from his nose into his gapping mouth.

“You live in **my** house and eat **my** food, you little shit, and you have the fuckin’ _balls_ to tell me that it’s ‘not that much money’?!” Terry bellowed. Iggy stood in the doorway, frozen. One foot was off the ground, in front of the other like he was mid run, and Mickey thought it might have been a funny pose if he wasn’t so damned terrified.

“You don’t bring any-fuckin’-thing to this house,” Terry growled, leaning down in his son’s face. “You’re worthless and if you aren’t gonna have any respect, then get the fuck out. No one wants you here.”

The man stood up and pulled his chair back out with a screech, sat back down, and went back to counting his bills. He snapped his fingers at Iggy to hand him his money, and, like a magic spell, Iggy unfroze and obliged.

Once he had shaken off the shock, Mickey slipped out the door, careful not to alert his father and make him any more angry.

He ran all the way to the abandoned development – the “ghost town” as he sometimes liked to call it (only to himself though – he didn’t dare tell anyone about the decrepit buildings). Once he got to the top floor of his favourite building, he went to the little nest he had built for himself in one corner of the room. Over the last few years he had gradually snuck a few survival essentials to the abandoned building for nights like tonight. He had a sleeping bag, a couple tubes of Pringles, three 2L bottles of off brand cola that had gone flat a long time ago, and a few comic books.

That night, while lying in his sleeping bag and reading an old _Superman_ comic someone had left on the L for him to find, he couldn’t stop thinking about little league. He tried to convince himself over and over that it was stupid and frivolous and a waste of time and money and-

And, fuck, he really wanted to play.

Every time he told himself how fucking stupid it was – how it was for babies – his mind would create a fantastical scenario.

The team would be down by three in the bottom of the ninth, but the bases would be loaded. Mickey would step up to bat and hit a homer, no big deal, easy peasy. The ball would go all the way into the stands (maybe it would hit Karen Jackson in the face), and Mickey wouldn’t even need to run the bases. He could walk them slowly and his team would be cheering him on.

And Lip would run up to him and wouldn’t have that stupid smirk, he’d look really impressed and he’d clap Mickey on the back and tell him he was glad that he had come out for the team and they couldn’t have done it without him.  

And Lip’s little red-haired brother would be there with his big, stupid grin (maybe he’d be bat boy or something), and when Mickey made it to the dug out, the boy would give him a big hug, and maybe Mickey wouldn’t even push him off.

And his dad would be there. And he’d be proud and yelling, “That’s my boy!”

Every time this fantasy came on, Mickey caught himself closing the comic slightly and pressing it to his chest, to let himself more fully enjoy the daydream.

 _It really isn’t that much money_ , he found himself thinking, as he approached the cusp of sleep. _You could probably earn it yourself…_

* * *

 

 

It had taken him almost a year, but he _had_ earned it himself. Well, mostly. He had convinced his father to let him help out some with the family business and had created quite the system for skimming off the top. His father almost never realized when he came up short, and even when he did, he was still bringing in more than his brothers.

Just as spring was rolling around, he counted it up and found that he had $82.45 – more than enough to try out for little league. He had his mother sign his permission form while she was strung out; he didn’t really want either of his parents to know he was playing baseball, yet. He knew it would raise too many questions.

The walk to the tryout had been a nerve-racking one. He had second guessed himself half a dozen times. He really didn’t like kids his age, and it turns out that when you’re risking a beating to earn it, $75 _is_ , in fact, a lot of money. Was he really willing to waste all his money on another Head Start?

When he walked onto the pitch, Lip Gallagher jogged over to great him.

“Milkovich, thought you were too good for little league,” the boy grinned, smugly.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, figured someone’s gotta save your sorry asses.”

A boy, who Mickey recognized as Lip’s brother, jogged up to them. He smiled shyly at Mickey and raised his arm, only slightly, in a kind of wave. Mickey nodded, uncomfortably.

As it turned out, Mickey had been worried for nothing. He may not have been the star that he had fantasized, but he had made the team easily. He was definitely one of the fastest kids on the team and could hit _the_ hardest. He dropped the ball a lot, but so did most of the boys. He had gotten one of the first hits of the season, second only to Lip’s brother, Ian. As it turned out, the little ginger Gallagher was quite athletic (unlike his older brother, who did a lot more trash talking than follow through).

Before he knew it, Tuesday and Thursday evening practices and Saturday morning games had become the best parts of Mickey’s week. For once in his life, Mickey was thrilled that neither of his parents seemed to give a shit where he was. The only person in his family who had figured out where he was going was Mandy, and that was just because Lip’s brother had opened his big mouth and told Mickey’s sister how _awesome_ Mickey had played at last week’s game.

Mickey didn’t even mind his teammates as much as he had feared. Sure, most of them were more well off than he was, but with them all running and sliding all day, he hardly ever stood out as more dirty than the other boys.

The best part was that there were no girls allowed.

Mickey had never liked girls. They seemed to range from inoffensive (like Angie Zago) to hell incarnate (like Karen Jackson). Girls were always accusing him of having “cooties” when he was younger and “herpes” as he got older. He heard them giggling at him and putting him on the bottom of those lists on the stupid games they would use to decide if they would live in a mansion or a shack when they grew up.

Mickey was pretty confident he could live comfortably never interacting with another girl as long as he lived.

But there weren’t any girls on the little league team, and for the first time in his young life, Mickey actually felt like he belonged, and as much as he loved Mandy (she couldn’t really be counted as a girl, right?) he didn’t want her showing up at his game and upsetting the delicate balance he had struck.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a beautiful June day, with just enough clouds in the sky that Mickey couldn’t feel the sun beating down on his back. They were up by one in the bottom of the seventh. Mickey had received two warnings from the little league commissioner, but what else was new? The game was going well.

They were playing some north side team, all of whom had fancy new uniforms that were clearly washed after every fuckin’ game. Earlier in the game, one of the north side boys, with blond hair and an incredibly pointy chin, had been safe on first and leaned over to whisper to him, “Jesus Christ, man. Do you _ever_ shower?”

Mickey had spun around and given the boy a hard shove, which earned him his first warning from the commissioner. Figures the fucker would side with the money.

Lip struck out (of fuckin’ course), and the seventh inning ended. He saw Lip’s frizzy haired sister sitting in the bleachers with the little red-haired girl he had met a year ago and a baby in a stroller (did that family ever not have a fuckin’ kid in a stroller?). Fiona was clapping and cheering something that seemed to be consolatory towards Lip. The red-haired sister looked bored. Mickey thought he saw Lip roll his eyes, while he put on his catcher’s mask.

Mickey walked out to take his place on first base. As he walked past the visitors’ dugout, he heard the same pointy chinned boy laugh to one of the other boys, “Can you fuckin’ believe they actually play in a dump like this?”

Mickey gritted his teeth, anger flaring inside him. The fuck did that kid think he was? This place was _Mickey’s_. He couldn’t just walk in here and talk like he knew any-fucking-thing at all.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lip’s brother waving into the crowd at his family. Why was no one but Mickey taking this game seriously?!

“Hey!” he growled at Ian. “Can you fuckin’ focus, Gallagher?”

Ian blinked at him, taken aback, but quickly made his face serious and nodded. He bent his knees forward, readying himself to run, and stared at the centre of the field.

The blond-haired, pointy-faced fucktard walked to the plate. Mickey took a deep breath to calm himself. This was his chance. He’d get that guy out, and make him look stupid, and then he’d regret ever showing his ugly-ass, witch-lookin’ face in such a “dump”.

It all happened very quickly.

Lip signaled to throw a curveball. Matt shook him off.

Lip signaled to throw a cutter. Matt shook him off.

Lip signaled to throw a slider. Matt shook him off.

Lip flipped Matt off. Matt threw a slider.

The blond fucker hit the pitch hard.

The outfielders fumbled around, running into one another, trying to get under the ball. Eventually, Dan caught the ball and promptly dropped it on the ground. Mickey was seriously debating tripping the north side douchebag, before he realized that Ian was already at the dropped ball.

In one fluid motion, the ginger had picked up the ball and thrown it hard back to Mickey. Time seemed to move in slow motion. Mickey felt the ball gliding towards him and the hitter sliding onto base and they seemed to be moving at the same speed.

He firmly planted his foot on base and reached up and caught the ball in his glove. He looked at the ball in his hand and then down at Ian. Mickey knew he was smiling but was pretty sure it was nowhere near as big as the smile that was on the younger boy’s face. Ian’s eyes were big and proud and really, really green. Mickey thought, for the first time in a long time, about his fantasy from a year ago and he wondered if this “out” was reason enough for Ian to hug him after the play.    

“Safe!”

Mickey spun around just in time to see the ump swiping his arms out completely at his side, like he was some kind of fuckin’ bird.

All thoughts of Lip’s brother’s green eyes were gone. Mickey saw red.

He threw his glove on the ground. “The fuck you mean safe?!” he spat, stepping towards the umpire.

“Milkovich!” he heard his commissioner yell, warningly. Mickey ignored him.

“Are you fuckin’ blind or just retarded?” Mickey asked, still approaching the ump. “My foot was clearly on the fuckin’ base.”

The umpire, held his ground, but Mickey could practically smell the fear coming off him. “Hitter touched base first.”

“Like fuckin’ hell he did!” Mickey bellowed. He was vaguely aware of Lip taking off his mask and standing up and of Matt walking a few steps towards first from his mound to get a better vantage point.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around again. There was his commissioner, looking all high and fuckin’ mighty.

“Take a seat, Milkovich,” he said calmly.

Mickey sputtered for a second. Could no one else see what was going on? The north side kids were getting special treatment and the south side kids were supposed to, what? Smile and say thank you?

“He’s a fuckin’ joke!” Mickey yelled, his voice high with disbelief and humourless laughter.

The commissioner put his hands on his knees and leaned down until he was face level with Mickey.

“Milkovich, this game is supposed to be fun. You clearly don’t respect the game and no one wants you here if you aren’t going to have respect. Now: Sit. Down.”

Mickey stood shocked for a moment as the commissioner turned back to the dugout and began to walk away. Rejection burned in his chest as he saw his teammates turn away from him and avoid eye contact. He felt pricks in the corners of his eyes.

He bit his tongue to keep from crying and clenched his teeth together. No one wants him here? Fine.

“Guess you’re right,” he said loudly, causing the commissioner to turn around.

He dropped his pants and began pissing on first base, aiming for the blond fucker, who was still standing there like a dope. The boy shrieked and backed away. He heard some parents in the crowd gasp and saw Lip Gallagher laughing into his hand.

 _So what?_ he thought. _Who needs baseball anyway? Waste of fuckin’ money._

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hoped you enjoyed! Please feel free to comment, I read all of them and really appreciate the feedback. I'm thinking the next chapter is going to be a time jump into the actual series time line!


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